


This Is The End

by ididthatonce



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Other, POV Second Person, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididthatonce/pseuds/ididthatonce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>IDK like Loki hits on you at a bar and maybe there's a tiny bit of telepathy but the point is that it ends in The Sex?  Everybody just chill out.</p><p>I'm sorry for the 2nd person but it made sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is The End

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post: http://titillatingtomtales.tumblr.com/post/70931173142
> 
> IDK like Loki hits on you at a bar and maybe there's a tiny bit of telepathy but the point is that it ends in The Sex?
> 
> Title inspired by the Doors song, "The End." Maybe don't listen to that when you're exhausted because it will make you think you're in the Vietnam War during the bridge. It was a bad day.

You first notice him from across the dimly-lit bar where you have, for some reason, agreed to a tinder date. Well, really, he notices you. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, directly into the place where a handful of baby hairs are coming out of your ponytail. You can even feel the color of his eyes, deep emerald green with specks of blue. It feels like he’s speaking directly to you without saying a word. Turn around. Turn around. Turn around.

You stretch and turn to crack your back, hoping that you look casual as you sneak a peek at the mysterious stranger. He stares directly at you, his eyes more blue than they had felt. You squint at the strange thought. One corner of his mouth twitches in what you assume is a smile. He’s wearing a forest-green coat, and his dark hair is slicked back, giving him the appearance that he came from another era. Your eyes meet and he mouths “hello.” You consider going over to him, but your date arrives and you forget about the man on the other side of the bar.

Two tequila sunrises later, your date takes a bathroom break and you take the opportunity to check your phone and send a text to your roommate, letting her know that, yes, you’re still alive. Suddenly, you feel him behind you, and you tilt your head back. The top of your head ruts against his firm stomach, and you drunkenly giggle. “What’s your name?” you ask, emboldened by the alcohol in your system.

He says something that you don’t understand. His voice is husky and hoarse, and it sounds like it starts with an L and ends with a K, so you decide it must be Luke. Luke’s body radiates heat. You both stare at each other for a moment, communicating wordlessly. He grips hold of your chair and spins you around so that you’re facing each other. Your head is at the same level as his crotch, and you stifle a giggle.

He growls in a voice that shouldn’t be audible in the noisy bar, “Call me when you’re ready for a real man.” You open your mouth to ask him what on Earth that means, but he hands you a folded piece of paper, and the cold of his hand as his fingers brush against yours renders you completely speechless.

Just then, your date returns, and you shove the paper into your purse. You have a perfectly fine evening with your date, and take an Uber to his house where you have perfectly fine sex. You wake up in the morning with a headache and no memory of the green-eyed stranger.

Two weeks go by and you lose contact with the date. You go out with friends a few times, even to that same bar. You meet a couple people who interest you, even get a couple phone numbers. One Friday night at 1 AM, you dig through your purse, trying to find a pack of gum for your friend Brandy who vomited during the drive home. You happen upon the piece of paper you had forgotten, and the entire night you met Luke comes rushing back at once. Opening it up, you find a phone number with an unfamiliar area code. A shiver runs down your spine, and before you realize what’s happening, you’ve texted the number “I’m ready.”

You concentrate on getting Brandy cleaned up and put to bed, which is a task easier said than done. An hour later, she is asleep and you finally get the chance to check your phone. Luke has responded with two texts. The first only said “good,” and the second names a bar you haven’t been to since you traded in your fake ID for a real one. The bar isn’t far away, though, and you’re still curious, so you forward the text to your roommate to let her know you’ll be out late. He texts back an eggplant emoji, and you make a mental note to put his keys in Jell-O again.

Luke is waiting outside the bar in the same green coat you met him in the first time, plus a black T-shirt and a pair of dark skinny jeans. His hands are in his pockets as he paces back and forth along the block. Instead of seeming nervous, however, he was cool and collected, like a tomcat parading along his claimed territory. His eyes squint when you make eye contact with him, reading you like a particularly interesting book.

You are physically drawn to him like a magnet. You walk up to him and he immediately wraps his arms around your lower back. He presses your bodies together, and you feel more aroused than you ever thought possible. A voice in the back of your head begs you to kiss him, but you keep your mind clear and hold back. He asks your name, and you whisper it to him. He copies your tone of voice as he recites it back to you, and you lose all powers of speech.

He grabs your hand and leads you inside, past the bar where you drank away your student loans and into a back room you didn’t know existed. In fact, you’re not completely convinced that it does exist. You sit in a booth with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. The candle lights his face in ways that more benefit the villain of a Disney film than your date for the evening. A waiter stops by the table and, before you can order your typical kamikaze shot with a tequila sunrise chaser, Luke orders two glasses of a wine you couldn’t pronounce if asked.

Before you can form a question, he answers it. “I don’t want you drunk tonight.”

“What do you want from me?” you blurt out before you can think too carefully about the words. He smirks at you, the candlelight highlighting the mischievous glint in his eyes. You apologize and correct yourself. “What are you expecting tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and seems to consider his answer seriously. “In the end, you will always be on your knees.” He responds, not really answering the question you asked. The statement sends bolts of electricity directly to your sex, so you let it slide.

You have a perfectly fine night. More than that, you have a wonderful night. Luke is charming and kind, and he makes you laugh when he’s not sending shivers down your spine. The bar closes at 2:30 AM, and you find that you are still sober despite downing half a bottle of fancy wine. You’re steady on your feet as he leads you out, down the street, and through a courtyard that leads to an ivy-covered brick building that must be at least a half-century old. He holds the door open for you, and you can feel his eyes on your ass as you make your way up the steps to what must be his apartment.

There is no lock on the door, and it hits you that he must own the whole building. You think to ask him about it, but real estate talk seems completely unsexy at this moment. Instead, you find a doorframe to lean against as you strike what you hope is an alluring pose. He traces your body with his blue-green eyes, now almost entirely green. He inches himself closer and closer to you, never quite reaching your body with his.

He sighs onto your lips. “I want you.” He mutters, equal parts vulnerable and aggressive.

“Luke,” you whisper back to him, and you can feel him smiling.

“Loki. My name is Loki.” He responds.

“Loki.” You recite. The name brings back memories of war and panic, but you somehow feel safe and secure as he pulls you into a kiss.

His arms snake around your back. He pushes your wrists together and behind you, causing your chest to push forward and into his. You can feel the muscles of his chest through his clothing, pressing against your nipples that grow more alert with each kiss. His mouth is hungry, devouring you with each movement.

He breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear, “undress for me.” He pulls himself away and sits on the modern leather couch in the middle of the room. Your body feels cold without him there. His commandment echoes through your mind, effectively turning off your brain and giving yourself over to his will. He fiddles with a remote control, and you hear a song that, for some reason, you know is sung by The Doors. It’s slow, dark, and haunting, not unlike Loki himself.

He stares at you, and the heat of his eyes feels like it’s burning holes in your clothing. You pull your t-shirt over your head, thankful that you thought to wear the cute bra tonight. You stretch, pushing your breasts up and your stomach taut. Your hands snake down to your jeans, unbuttoning the fly and tugging them past your hips and to the ground. Stepping out of them carefully, you draw your fingers up to your bra clasp and undo it, shimmying out of the lacy black fabric. You’ve always been self-conscious about your breasts, but the way Loki is looking at you makes you forget any shyness or pretense. The music builds and you wiggle out of your panties, standing stark naked before the man whose real name you just learned tonight.

Loki removes his belt and saunters over to you, taking his time. He wraps your lips in a kiss and hooks your wrists together behind your back. “Is this okay?” he whispers, and you feel a sense of his emotional investment in waiting for your answer. You hiss out a “yes” and revel in the fact that, for all intents and purposes, you have fallen under his spell and never want it to be lifted. He ties his belt around your wrists, and you moan as you hear the buckle click.

He seats you on the couch, hands bound behind you, completely naked, legs splayed open. He takes a few steps back and slips that damn green coat off his shoulders. His biceps appear as soon as the jacket falls to the ground. He’s not overly muscular like that Steve Rogers character that graces all the tabloids, but enough that you get a sense of his strength. He removes his t-shirt tantalizingly slow. He reveals the trail of hair that leads from his navel down, and it’s dark and coarse, almost animalistic. More of the t-shirt goes, and you see his chest and toned stomach. Finally, he’s shirtless, and you hear a groan escape from your own lips.

He takes his time walking over to you. He splays his fingers for a moment, staring at the apex of your thighs with cool intensity. Then, as if it was always his intention, his eyes dart to your face. His hand finds your chin. Your breath comes heavy, and as you open your mouth to inhale, he presses his thumb into your mouth. On instinct, you begin sucking at it, teasing it with your tongue, doing everything you can think of to treat the digit like an erogenous zone. He removes his thumb and inserts two fingers instead, and you lap at them as though they are mana from heaven.

His fingers wet with your own saliva, he makes no more pretenses and turns his attentions further south. You can feel that you are dripping with arousal and make a motion to apologize for whatever you are doing to his couch, but before you can say a word, his long fingers are inside of you. He pumps you, pressing his fingers into the spot you swore no one knew about, fucking you with expertise and ease. A scream builds inside of you, but his fingers withdraw and move to the fly of his jeans.

He undoes his pants and unsheaths himself, presenting, quite frankly, the most impressive dick you’ve ever seen in your considerable years of experience. It’s is as pale as the rest of his body, but longer than you expected and almost as thick as your wrist. “I was a horse for a while.” He announces proudly, and that doesn’t make any kind of sense to you, but you accept it as gospel because holy crap, you need that inside of you NOW.

You try to grab hold of him, but forget that your arms are bound together, so you wind up falling off the couch and onto the floor. Loki laughs and lifts you by your armpits, kneeling you in front of him as his erection twitches near your mouth.

“I told you that you would end up on your knees.” He growls, and grabs hold of your hair with both hands. Gingerly, you press forward and find the tip of his member with your tongue. It’s hot-- almost burning against your cool skin. He groans out as you make a tentative lick, then another. His grip prevents you from moving close enough to take him into your mouth, so you strain against his hands, teasing him with just the tip of your tongue. He twitches and his grip lessens just a tad, and you’re able to fit the head into your mouth. His taste is salty and earthy, with a little bit of sweat thrown in for good measure. You try and try to push yourself further, but between his surprisingly strong hands and your tied wrists throwing off your balance, you have no choice but to follow his achingly slow lead.

Your tongue draws every pattern you can think of as you suck greedily at his cock. You feel him twitch again, and another burst of saltiness makes its way to your tongue. He grunts, and you reply with a strained “please” that sounds nothing like your own voice. He lets go of your hair, but throws-- literally throws-- you onto the couch before you have a chance to sink your mouth any deeper onto him. He makes his way towards you as if he’s possessed, and before you have a chance to actually consider what that massive dick is going to feel like inside of you, he’s there, filling you tighter than you ever imagined possible.

He thrusts twice before you start to feel pressure building again. Wordlessly, he grabs your hips and slams into you. He manages to remove the belt on your wrists just in time for you to come hard, screaming every word you know and gripping hold of his strong shoulders and back. Your voice goes hoarse, and he takes the cue to withdraw himself, spilling all over your chest and stomach. His come is hot and surprisingly sexy, and you almost don’t want him to clean it off.

But he does, and he wraps his coat around your shoulders after tucking himself into his jeans. Your voice is gone, reduced to a whisper from the screaming and shouting. He sits down next to you, nuzzling your forehead as he draws you closer. You fight to stay awake, but you’re exhausted and drift off to sleep.

The next morning, you awake completely naked in your own bed. You wonder to yourself if Loki was all a dream, a trick of some kind that the tequila played on you. But you have no headache, and your wrists still feel sore. Your phone buzzes next to you, and you see the number with the unfamiliar area code come up in a text. “Thanks.” Is all it says.

Another text comes through. “Don’t get me wrong. You were on your knees, but this is not the end.”


End file.
